We're Only Human
by gleebles
Summary: Sequel to "Within the Cinderblocks": Some may say the nightmare is over, but to the students who were a part of the school shooting, it has only just begun. As the Glee club members return to their normal lives, they discover that relationships are tested, resentment is born, fears becomes all-consuming, and the pain of that fateful day never really ends.
1. Prologue: Recover

**gleebles A/N; **Welcome back, friends! :) Here is the sequel I promised you all! **Please read the author's note at the end of this chapter for updating information. **However, I'd like to dive right back into our story here, so, just like_ Within the Cinderblocks _started...

Let's begin!

Prologue  
"Recover"

_We will recover,  
__The worst is over now.  
__All those fires we've been walking through,  
__And still we survive, somehow.  
__We will recover,  
__The worst is behind,  
__And it hurts, but in time, I know that we will recover._

* * *

**Finn Hudson**

Finn sniffed the air and could smell something burning. His eyes grew wide and he immediately dropped the knife he was holding and scrambled over to the toaster.

"Shit!" he cried when he saw the smoke swirling above the appliance. Finn immediately unplugged it, hoping to salvage part of Kurt's dinner, and two pieces of dark brown toast popped up. He groaned and wondered to himself if Kurt would eat it. Finn certainly would, but Kurt was usually pickier.

Kurt lived in the basement. Yes, his room was downstairs and that's where he slept, but Kurt literally _lived_ _in the basement_. He sustained a major concussion from when Ron, one of the gunmen from the school shooting, had struck him with his firearm three times. Out of the concussion came a bought of short-term memory loss, stuttering, inability to sleep, and, the worst of all, migraines. Hideous, excruciating, incapacitating migraines that forced Kurt into a pitch-black basement, his body curled in a tight ball, and clamping a pillow over his head. It had been a week and a half since the shooting and, since he had a bed and a bathroom downstairs, he hadn't ventured to the first floor even once. Thus, the family took turns making Kurt breakfast, lunch, and dinner, though Finn made Kurt snacks all the time.

He had become increasingly more protective of his stepbrother and Kurt seemed to benefit from it, which only fueled Finn's fire to overwhelm him with kindness and vigilance.

"Here, Kurt," Finn whispered when he approached Kurt's bed and he turned on the lamp on the bedside table. Carole had purposefully purchased a lamp with a low light setting for when Kurt showered, ate, and for any other circumstance which required a light. Kurt shifted in his bed. "I made you an egg sandwich with whole wheat bread, low-fat mayonnaise, egg, cheese, and tomato. Is that okay?"

"Sounds g-great, Finn," Kurt croaked, sitting up in bed. He squinted and his eyebrows came together. He moaned.

"Want some medicine?" Finn wondered, placing the plate on the table and adjusted Kurt's pillow.

Kurt shook his head and picked up the plate, bringing it to his lap. Finn smiled happily when Kurt took a bite and thanked him for his dinner.

"It's nothing," Finn whispered and then turned to the Ipod on the bookshelf across from Kurt's bed. "What do you want to listen to?"

"Yiruma," Kurt spoke through a mouthful of food.

When Finn had discovered Kurt could listen to music on low, he scoured the Internet for soothing piano music and found the pianist Yiruma. It was basically all Kurt listened to now.

Finn began the playlist and turned back to Kurt who was eating with his eyes closed.

"Anything else I can get you?"

Kurt swallowed.

"Can I g-get something to drink?" he asked.

"I brought you milk," Finn gestured to the side table and Kurt opened his eyes to glance at the side table.

"Is it—?"

"It's skim," Finn assured and Kurt, although in great pain, smiled up at him.

"Thanks Finn."

"Not a problem," Finn reminded and picked up Kurt's dirtied plate from lunch. "Get some rest."

"I will. Thanks again."

Finn smiled to himself and climbed the stairs. He didn't even mind cleaning up the kitchen after making Kurt's dinner. He was making a difference and helping Kurt's recovery, which gave him every reason to smile.

* * *

**Quinn Fabray**

"I'm going to the candlelight vigil on Friday," Quinn spoke, and ran her fingers through her short Pixie cut. She cut her hair a week after the school shooting.

"That's good of you," Mr. Wilson smiled. Mr. Wilson, Quinn's therapist, had been seeing her for two weeks now. "Are you nervous to see all your classmates again? Especially ones who knew you were in the classroom with the gunman?"

Quinn pursed her lips in thought.

"Yes," she nodded. "I am, but I think it's more important to honor Rory than to worry about what someone will say about me. Don't you think?"

"I absolutely think so," Mr. Wilson agreed and then gave Quinn a bright-eyed smile. "Quinn, I have to tell you, I'm so proud of the way you're handling this. People react in various ways after a major event like this, but you're doing a great job. You aren't holding back and you're voicing your worries. At this rate, I think you'll be ready to return to school when it reopens at the end of February."

Quinn smiled serenely.

"It's cleansing to talk about it aloud. I feel rejuvenated every time I leave your office," a soft look graced her features. "I think I'll be ready too."

* * *

**Artie Abrams**

It was chilly outside McKinley High, and Artie pulled his fleece jacket closer when a gust of wind blew past him. He shivered and then looked up at the school.

It was the middle of February and they had been on break for three weeks, but the school was scheduled to reopen one month exactly after the shooting. The school shooting took place on a Tuesday.

Artie shivered again when he glanced down at his phone. Today was Tuesday. He had one week exactly. One week and Artie would be rolling down the hallway of McKinley once again. He closed his eyes.

God, why had Mike been in the hallway with Artie when Ray, Ron, and Charlie exited their classroom? Why did he react so quickly and literally take a bullet for him? His damn legs didn't work anyway…

Artie sighed, opened his eyes again, and peered over at his school.

One month wasn't enough time.

* * *

**Mike Chang**

"How about some leg lifts first?" Betty asked Mike and Mike gave a forced smile.

"Let's do it," he agreed and gripped the sides of the table firmly. He straightened his leg out and then slowly lifted his leg in the air. There was a dull throbbing in his upper thigh that he pointedly ignored.

"Any discomfort?" Mike's physical therapist asked, her hand hovering under Mike's shin in case his muscles gave out.

"Not much," Mike spoke through gritted teeth, but with a sharp stab in his thigh, he quickly lowered his leg into Betty's hand. "Damn…"

"It's okay," Betty's lilted voice sounded. "Let's try again, slower this time."

Mike gave a resigned huff and responded to his physical therapist's encouragement.

His body wasn't bouncing back like it normally did after an injury and it was more frustrating than Mike could've ever imagined. He relied on his mobility for everything and had molded his entire future based solely on his ability to dance, but now he couldn't even walk without crutches let alone isolate a backhand spring.

He narrowed his eyes and willed his leg to elevate and lower like it was supposed to. Mike was a passive person; he didn't often fight for things if it was going to cause trouble for him or others.

But he would fight to dance.

* * *

**Noah Puckerman**

Puck yawned widely. It was two o'clock in the afternoon and he had just woken up.

_Thank God for this break_, he thought to himself and scratched his crotch lazily while scanning the contents of his refrigerator. It was Thursday; the school reopened in four days and Puck wanted to cry at the thought. He was going to make the rest of his break count.

Drinking milk straight from the carton, he turned to the counter next to the refrigerator and began flipping through the mail. _Bills…bills…magazine subscription…and—oh._

Puck lowered the carton and furrowed his eyebrows. There was a letter addressed to him.

He froze when he glanced at the upper left corner.

It read: Lima County Jail.

Puck hesitated before his curiosity peaked and he began to open the letter. When he unfolded the parchment inside, he was faced with only five words: _Did you learn your lesson?_

There was a long moment where Puck simply stared at the words, unsure if the words had any affect on him at all or if they had numbly stunned him.

Then, he balled it up and threw it in the trashcan.

* * *

**Tina Cohen-Chang**

It was Friday night.

Tina stepped in front of her full-length mirror and exhaled shakily. She smoothed her hands over her skirt self-consciously and then worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

She couldn't remember who decided to hold the candlelight vigil, but whoever it had been must've known and cared Rory. Tina supposed she was lucky that she hadn't known him better or this night could've been painful. Although with gratefulness came immediate guilt. They had been in the same _club _for crying out loud and Tina could hardly remember what his last name was.

She closed her eyes briefly before staring back at her all-black ensemble. She may have changed her look since freshman year, but she hadn't thrown out her black. No, it stayed in the back of her closet and tonight she dressed in a black blouse, skirt, tights, high heels, and a birdcage veil. It was odd to step back in time, but Tina didn't find herself minding much.

It was appropriate after all.

* * *

**Kurt Hummel**

Nearly three hundred people had shown up for the candlelight vigil on the front lawn of McKinley High. Although pitch black outside, the entire circle glowed with hundreds of flickering candles as a pastor read from a Bible in the center.

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?"

Kurt stared at the candle in his hands and his head gave a nasty throb. The quivering lights had caused an almost instantaneous ache, but he ignored it.

He glanced to his right and watched as Blaine listened to the priest who stood next to a large portrait of Rory. Blaine's eyes glowed a beautiful, rich honey color from his own candle. However, the longer Kurt looked, he began to take notice of the strange dazed film that clouded Blaine's vision. Maybe he wasn't listening to the prayer after all.

Kurt slipped his hand into Blaine's and gave a tight squeeze and frowned when it was not returned. He wanted to say something, but decided he'd wait until a more appropriate time to address his boyfriend's inattentiveness.

There was a blessing from the priest and then several acknowledgments of love, guilt, and loss from the students. After Quinn murmured out her thanks to Rory, Mr. Schuester spoke up.

"Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan are here and want to say a few words to you all."

Kurt's eyes widened as he looked across the circle and saw a couple emerge from the wall of students. Mrs. Flanagan was short and plump with a black slacks, shirt, and sweater. Her hair was a mousy brown and there were tissues in her hand.

"Rory decided to come to America about a year ago," she spoke out in a thick Irish accent. "When he told me he wanted to experience what this country had to offer, I didn't want him to go. He was my baby, you know? I didn't want him to be lost or confused or…alone. But he was stubborn as an ox," she giggled a watery laugh and Mr. Flanagan wrapped an arm around her.

He was tall, probably 6'7", and wore glasses that sheathed bright blue eyes, nearly identical to Rory's.

"He was brave though," he assured and Kurt jumped at how similar his and his son's voices were. "He kept us updated and assured us of how well he adjusted to life in Lima, Ohio. He loved the friends he made and the Glee club he joined."

Mercedes, Quinn, Sam, Santana, Finn, Puck, Mike, Tina, and Rachel all shared an uneasy glance.

"May I ask," Mrs. Flanagan spoke aloud again, "is a boy named Kurt Hummel here tonight?"

Kurt froze on the spot and the crowd broke out into hushed whispers and they craned their heads to get a good look at Kurt. He remained immobile for quite sometime until Finn gently pushed him forward. Kurt found himself briefly and stepped out of the ring only to have three hundred pairs of eyes bore through him.

"Kurt," Mrs. Flanagan smiled at him, "we heard what you did for our boy. We know you tried to keep him brave and then keep him alive. You went back for him and refused to let him stay in that school alone. Although we grieved and are still grieving, our hearts warmed at the thought that he had such a great friend to help him through it. Thank you, Kurt."

Kurt was shaking by the time Mrs. Flanagan had finished, the candle spilling wax over the grass at his feet. Guilt washed over him and tided him over when Rory's parents came forward and gave him a tight hug.

He couldn't save Rory. Rory died no matter what Kurt tried to do and here his parents were, _thanking him._

"We talked about you both," Kurt exhaled breathlessly when they released him. "We talked about our parents and I could just tell you both meant the world to him."

Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan smiled, but then Mrs. Flanagan dissolved into tears. Her husband gathered her in his arms and Kurt felt another pang of guilt spiral in him.

His head began to ache.

* * *

**Santana Lopez**

"We have one day to find the perfect back-to-school outfit for you," Brittany said with a smile on her face, flicking through the racks. They had been shopping in Belk after Brittany nearly forced Santana out of her house. "Kurt told me once that fashion is the key to happiness and I want you to be happy when we go back to McKinley. How do you want to look? What about naughty schoolgirl? Oh my God," Brittany picked up a hideous XXL Christmas sweater on clearance for $3.99. "Lord Tubbington would look great in this."

Santana hummed vaguely at her girlfriend and crossed her arms tightly. Brittany lowered the sweater and then placed it back on the rack.

She cocked her head at Santana.

"Are you okay?" she asked and nearly immediately Santana burst into tears. Brittany, her eyes widening, stepped toward and opened her arms.

Santana launched herself into them and gripped the front of her girlfriend's shirt tightly.

"_I don't want to go back_," she whispered in fear. "_I don't want to..."_

* * *

**Blaine Anderson**

The Anderson household was huge, expensive, and immaculate. Tom was a businessman and Margaret was the financial consultant so they could afford to have a luxurious home. Without their income, Blaine would've never been able to transfer to Dalton.

They were all seated in the dining room where the shining mahogany table held a glass bowl of salad, two dishes of mash potatoes and green beans, a cutting board with sizzling pork, and a basket of steaming rolls. Tom, Margaret, and Blaine all ate away while Blaine's parents discussed something about Cooper and his newest girlfriend.

"She seems very sweet," Mrs. Anderson said, patting the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "Although it worries me that she's a model. I just hope she has her head on her shoulders."

"Cooper can handle himself, I'm sure," Tom smiled, sipping on his glass of red wine. "If she's not good for him, he'll realize it. Eventually."

They laughed at Blaine's brother for he wasn't the brightest kid in the world.

"Blaine," Margaret asked, "are you ready for school tomorrow?"

She tore a piece of bread and raised it to her lips, but hesitated when Blaine hadn't responded.

Blaine wasn't eating. He was staring at the middle of the table, his head bowed and his eyes glossed over.

"Blaine?" his mother called out, but there was again no response.

"Blaine!" Tom called out loudly and suddenly Blaine started.

"Sir?" he asked, looking startled at his father.

His parents stared at him.

"Your mother asked you a question," Tom filled him in.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Mrs. Anderson asked, looking at him with concern. "Are you feeling sick?"

Blaine shook his head and his face constructed an even, calculated expression.

"No, I'm fine."

"Are you ready for school tomorrow?" she asked again.

Blaine picked up his spoon and nodded.

"Blaine," his father warned.

"Yes ma'am," Blaine responded and took a bite of mashed potato.

* * *

**Rachel Berry**

Rachel hummed to herself as she brushed her bangs. It was about 6:30 AM and she had already worked out, eaten breakfast, showered, changed, curled her hair, and applied her makeup.

It was like the first day of school all over again and Rachel for one was extremely excited for things to go back to normal.

She laid her brush down on her vanity and practiced her smile in the mirror.

Some people would be frowning today, but Rachel would make sure to have a smile on her face.

* * *

**Mercedes Jones**

Mercedes walked into McKinley High and inhaled sharply. There was a banner as soon as she entered the school that read, "Welcome Back Students." Under the sign, there was a single word spelled out in red spray paint.

_BANG_

Mercedes immediately fisted the end of the banner and tore it from the ceiling. Her heart was thundering in her chest as she collected the fabric and then tossed it in the corner. Other students watched her and most of them looked impressed and grateful.

_'What is wrong with people?_' Mercedes thought to herself and continued down the hallway. She passed by Quinn who flashed her a brief smile that she tried to reciprocate convincingly.

She passed the choir room to get to her locker and as she did, her heart picked up speed and her heart fluttered dangerously in her chest.

"I can do this," Mercedes murmured to herself as she reached her locker. "I can do this."

* * *

**Sam Evans**

Sam yanked open the front door to McKinley and took off down the hallway in a way one can only describe as stomping. His hands gripped the straps of his backpack and his eyes narrowed at anyone who glanced his way.

He continued throughout the school like that, heading to his classroom, when suddenly something caught his eye.

Sam's steps faltered and he stopped in the middle of the hallway. His eyes trailed over to the red square on the wall and he felt something heavy fall into the pit of his stomach.

Then, he reached over and pulled the fire alarm.

* * *

**gleebles A/N; ****PLEASE READ BELOW!**

So first off, I was in the middle of writing chapter three of this story when my computer freaked out and then shut off. Turns out I lost everything except this and the outline (Thank God.) so updating will be somewhat sporadic.

I was so frustrated, but I decided to post this now because the other one ended not too long ago and I want the story to stay fresh in the reader's mind. I'm sorry that updating will be slower than the first one, but know that I'm doing my best!

Let me know what you think and thanks for reading! :)

- gleebles


	2. Chapter One: Empty Garden

**gleebles A/N; **Hello again! Thanks for all the reviews/favorites/alerts! I'm getting quite busy with the new AU story, so I'm sorry if this one doesn't update as quickly. I'm also trying to get in as much writing as possible before school starts back up in a week. Sigh...

Anywho, enjoy the new chapter! :)

Chapter One  
"Empty Garden"

_And through their tears,  
__Some say he farmed his best in younger years,  
__But he'd have said that roots grow stronger if only he could hear,  
__Who lived there?_

* * *

When Will entered the choir room, he counted his kids. There were five missing. Mercedes, Mike, Blaine, Sam, and—Will felt his stomach jolt—Rory.

Mike, Will knew, had physical therapy after school every day and Sam was still in trouble for the fire alarm incident from earlier that morning.

When he pulled the alarm, Sue was the one to catch him. She swung at him, snatched a handful of his jacket, and then marched him straight to Principal Figgins. Will couldn't even imagine Sam's punishment. Pulling a fire alarm on the first day back from break after a school shooting? Not to mention that the fire alarm was the catalyst for the previous chaos...

Students fled the school, but after an hour or so, they were all rounded up and placed back into their homeroom classes. The rest of the day went without a hitch, although the tense atmosphere was felt everywhere he went.

It was a surprise to Will when he found that Sam was let off with only a two-day suspension. Figgins must've taken pity upon Sam since he knew he was a part of the shooting.

Will shook his head and focused on his other missing students. Blaine and Mercedes…he had seen them earlier today, but they hadn't told him that they couldn't make it to the meeting.

When Will approached Finn in the hallway that afternoon, he asked him to spread the word of a mandatory meeting in the choir room later after school. Finn wondered, quite angrily, if asking the students to congregate in the choir room was a bit cruel and insensitive, but Will brushed off his concern.

It had to be done.

"Hi guys," Will exhaled softly as he took his usual place in the center of the room. Rachel, Finn, Puck, Artie, Tina, Quinn, Santana, Brittany, Sugar, and Kurt all gazed at him with blank expressions. "I just wanted to talk to you briefly about some things."

He was met with silence and he hesitated for a moment. Then, he walked forward and took a chair from the line-up. He took a seat and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

"I know that being in here might be hard for some of you," he turned his eyes to Finn who nodded slowly. "That's what I wanted to talk to you guys about."

He inhaled deeply.

"Something terrible happened in this room," he explained matter-of-factly. "This place used to be our sanctuary. A place of safety from the outside world. Now, to some of you, it may not feel like that anymore, but I _assure _you, we can get that feeling back."

His eyes traveled over the faces of his students.

"It may take a few days, or weeks, or even months, but in due time, we can have our home back. We've hurt in this room," glanced at Puck who blinked back at him curiously. "We can also heal in this room."

There was movement to his left and he turned to see Rachel looking impatient, wiggling in her seat. Will furrowed his eyebrows.

"Now, I know that some of you are worried about Regionals," he addressed her and she nodded encouragingly, "but I understand that you need to heal before that even becomes an issue. I'd rather you guys feel comfortable enough to be in this room than to have another trophy in that case over there."

Their eyes trailed over to the trophy case.

"If we have enough people to compete, then great. If not, that's all right too. Glee club will always be here even if we don't participate in competitions. Understood?"

There were several nods and Will could tell Rachel was feeling anxious.

He had to wrap this up quickly.

"That being said," he stood up, "I'm going to be in here everyday after school for Glee practice. If you think you can handle it, then by all means, come on in. If not, then come when you're ready. In addition, I'll be taking my lunches in my office now," he gestured to the small room in the back of the classroom, "instead of the teacher's lounge. Stop in if you need someone to talk to."

He nodded and then pushed the chair back into its original place.

"And with that, you guys can head home for the day. My door is always open."

There was a brief pause, and then there was movement as the students started collecting their things. Rachel was the first to her feet and she hurried over to Mr. Schuester as the rest started filtering out the room.

"Mr. Schuester," she addressed immediately, "while I understand where you're coming from, don't you think the best way for everyone to stop thinking about the past is to start preparing for our future? Specifically Regionals?"

Will took a deep breath before speaking to his most ambitious student. Her self-absorbed attitude got under his skin sometimes, but he tried to be patient with her.

"Rachel, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but this is a little more complex than that."

She nodded quickly.

"I _understand _that, but isn't that what Glee club is all about? Singing about the pain? To heal through music?"

"No, you don't understand, Rachel," Will shook his head and she closed her mouth. "And neither do I, really. We weren't in the school while all of this took place. We can't possibly comprehend what they went through—what they're _going _through. There isn't anything we can do except give them time and space. Does that make sense to you?"

Rachel stared at him.

"It's bigger than you and me and Glee club," he continued and picked up his bag.

Rachel pursed her lips and nodded shortly

"I understand," she said quickly and then turned to gather her things.

However, Mr. Schuester's explanation did not damper her fire. In fact, it only fed it.

If he wasn't going to get everyone through this hard time and get focused on Regionals, then she'd have to do it single-handedly.

* * *

"Oh," Kurt gasped softly as the weight room's door opened just as he passed it. "Well, hello there, Mike Tyson."

Blaine gave Kurt a tight smile and they started down the hallway. Blaine's face was flushed and there were damp spots on his shirt, which indicated a shower after his boxing session.

"Where are you headed?" Kurt asked as they progressed outside, away from McKinley.

Blaine did not answer him.

Kurt glanced at his profile. Blaine's eyes stared straight ahead without focus.

"Blaine?"

"Yes?"

"Are you heading home?" Kurt frowned. "Did you want to hang out or something?"

Blaine hesitated and lowered his eyes.

Kurt and Blaine hadn't seen each other since the candlelight vigil. Right after Kurt was released from the hospital, Blaine would come over to his house and sit with his boyfriend in the dark basement, rubbing his back and making him food. Then, as Kurt's heath inclined and was able to carry on conversations, Blaine's visits became more spread apart and eventually stopped altogether. The last time they'd seen each other in the basement, Kurt painfully tried for conversation, but Blaine remained nearly catatonic and silent. Patience wasn't Kurt's strong suit and he became fed up quickly with Blaine's silence. He snapped at him, saying if he had nothing to say, then he could just go home, which is what he did. Later, Kurt texted Blaine an apology and they made up, but Blaine didn't return to the Hudson-Hummel home.

Then, two weeks later, they saw each other at the vigil and exchanged nothing but a few words to each other.

It didn't feel like a break up, Kurt assessed. It felt more like a break, but not the bad kind. A temporary pause while Kurt and Blaine healed individually before they became Kurt-and-Blaine again.

It was a little disconcerting to Kurt, however, when he approached Blaine that morning, preparing for their first conversation in weeks, and Blaine just smiled weakly before leaving for his first period class without so much as a 'hello' or a hug.

Now, as they both stood next to their respected vehicles, with the awkward tension and large gap separating them, Kurt felt like it really _could _be a break up.

"I have homework," Blaine spoke softly.

"So do I," Kurt nodded. "If you want, you could come over and we could do it together?"

Blaine fingered his car keys idly and the gears in his mind turned calculatingly.

But before Blaine could open his mouth to speak, Kurt smiled and shook his head.

"You know what," he gave a short laugh, "I should probably get some work done at home. I skipped out on chores before, but the concussion excuse can only last me so long, you know?"

He laughed again, but was met with silence. Blaine stared at the car handle, itching to get home.

Kurt's smile slipped into a frown.

"Okay, well…I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure."

Blaine opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. Kurt stood, rooted to the spot, thoroughly shocked, as Blaine ignited the engine and drove off.

No hug. No "I love you." Not even a goodbye.

Kurt closed his eyes and willed the virtue of patience to grace his emotions.

_Blaine is healing,_ he reminded himself. _He needs time and space and I need to understand that and allow him plenty of both._

"Kurt!"

The sound of his stepbrother's voice interrupted Kurt's internal talk off the ledge and he opened his eyes.

Finn waved awkwardly from across the parking lot and he jogged over.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he approached Kurt.

"Willing myself into becoming a better person," he spoke drily and then smiled at Finn's blank expression. "I was waiting for you to drive me home."

Kurt had a doctor's visit in a few days, but until then, he hadn't received permission to drive yet and Burt, who'd always been harassed into following doctor's orders, promoted the same type of obedience in his son. Finn drove Kurt to and from school.

"Oh," Finn shook his head of Kurt's strangeness. "Well I had a better idea!"

"What's that?" Kurt looked up curiously and Finn broke out into an excited smile.

"Bowling!"

Kurt stared.

"I beg your pardon?" he deadpanned.

"Come on, Kurt!" Finn insisted as Kurt opened the passenger's side door to the truck and slid in. "You've been cooped up in the basement for so long. We should do something fun! I'll get Rachel and you can text Blaine to meet us there!"

"Blaine has stuff he has to do," Kurt said evasively.

"Well, whatever, it'll be fun, I promise."

Kurt sighed.

Finn had been extremely helpful when Kurt had his concussion. The first time he ventured into the basement, he brought down a sandwich his mother had prepared and helped Kurt into a sitting position. It was incredible to see his younger brother (who wasn't actually younger), someone who was so independent and strong-willed look so fragile and helpless. When Finn placed Kurt's lunch on the bed, Kurt thanked Finn and asked for a drink. Finn complied right away and Kurt smiled weakly.

That stirred something in the protective older brother. Since then, he helped Kurt a lot with things, such as preparing meals, doing laundry, and setting up music. With all his help, Kurt improved to the point where he could join the family for dinner upstairs.

However, Kurt was much better now and could take care of himself, but Finn was just as eager to help as before. Kurt contemplated the best way to delicately explain that his aid wasn't needed anymore, but Finn enjoyed it so much that he wasn't sure how. Instead, he sucked it up and accepted the unnecessary attention.

"Okay," Kurt submitted easily and earned a bright grin from his stepbrother, "but I refuse to put my fingers in those disgusting holes."

"Really, I thought you liked sticking your fingers in holes?" Puck wisecracked as he passed by the pair. Finn spun around to yell at his friend and Kurt's face burned brightly.

"You're a pig, Puckerman," he choked out and crossed his arms.

Finn turned to him after giving Puck a warning and then he caught sight of Kurt's face.

His mouth dropped open.

"Wait a second…" Kurt slowly turned his face to look at Finn with an incredulous expression. "You and Blaine…"

"Finn?" Kurt's voice commanded harshly. "Stop. Now."

"I just didn't think…that _you'd _be the—"

"_Finn!_" Kurt screamed and covered his ears. His face could've fried an egg. "Can we _not _talk about my sex life and instead get a freaking move on?! Go get Rachel!"

Finn stumbled backward at Kurt's explosion and tripped toward the school to gather his girlfriend, leaving behind a furiously blushing Kurt.

* * *

Puck tossed his backpack on the table where it would remain until school the next morning and then headed straight for the pantry.

"Anyone home?" he called out and heard his stepbrother from the computer room.

"Hey, what's up?" Zane replied from the computer room.

"Jeez, Zane, get a girlfriend or something, you're always home."

Puck heard his younger brother scoff as he dug his fingers into a potato chip bag.

"I could say the same about you."

Puck grumbled, shoved an obscene amount of greasy potato chips into his mouth, and then glanced toward the pile of mail on the counter.

He swallowed, rubbed his hands on his pants, and then searched for the letter he knew would be there.

Yep. There it was. Addressed to Noah Puckerman.

Puck placed the bag of chips on the counter, picked up the letter, and then headed toward his bedroom.

"Save some of those chips for me," Zane hollered and Puck rolled his eyes.

When he entered his room, he got down on his knees and pulled forward a shoebox from under his bed.

When he opened the cover, he revealed dozens of unopened letters, all from the same sender.

Lima County Jail.

Puck added the new letter with the rest, covered it back up, and returned it to the place under his bed.

* * *

**gleebles A/N; **Yeah, so about Zane.

When I wrote the outline for this story, it was before season 4. All I knew was what the writers hinted at, which was that Puck had step siblings, so I created Zane, Puck's younger stepbrother. I knew nothing of Jake and I was unwilling to change my outline, so Zane remained! :D

Hope you enjoyed! :) Leave a review!

- gleebles


	3. Chapter Two: Numb

**gleebles A/N; **Hi guys!

WOW. Have you been keeping up with the madness that had been the Klaine fandom over these last few days? It's been nuts! And we're finally getting Come What May! :D I am sooo excited! :D I'll keep my fangirling here to a minimum, but find me on Tumblr to experience all the madness! ;) aglassofgleeblesplease . tumblr . com

Here's the new chapter!

Chapter Two  
"Numb"

_Keep on doing the same old thing,  
__And you expecting change.  
__Well is that really insanity,  
__Or just a losers' game.  
__I only trust in the things I feel,  
__Some may say that's strange.  
__You better recognize what is real,  
__Cause forever is a long time._

* * *

Puck was sitting in algebra, or English, or…history maybe, when the idea hit him like a ton of bricks. He spun around in his chair and looked to Sam who sat directly behind him.

"Pss!"

Sam looked up from doodling in his textbook up to Puck.

"What?" he asked lowly. It was his first day back from his suspension and he already looked as if he wished he had more days off.

"Dude, I know what we need!" Puck whispered excitedly.

Sam raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

"We need to throw a party!" Puck's face lit up like the Forth of July. "Everyone's so freaking tense and stressed. They just need to let loose! Remember Rachel's party last year? How fun it was? Well, _after _I broke into her dad's liquor cabinet? Let's do it again!"

"Mr. Puckerman," Mr. Pinner drawled from the front of the classroom. "Turn around please."

Puck complied, waited until Mr. Pinner continued lecturing, and swiveled around once again.

"Anyway, what do you think?"

Sam shrugged.

"Will there be booze?"

Puck gave an incredulous laugh.

"Dude, what do you think? I'm the Puckasaurs!"

Sam just stared back blankly.

"Bro. Seriously?" Puck questioned his classmate drily and Sam gave a smirk.

"I'm in."

* * *

"Talking about it has helped me a lot," Quinn explained as she crumpled up the empty brown sack that had stored her lunch. "Actually going over the details in my head and then vocalizing it…it was very therapeutic." She smiled. "I mean, it _is _therapy, but—"

Mr. Schuester laughed and nodded.

"I get what you mean," he stared at the blonde student and a heartwarming smile appeared on his face. "Quinn, I gotta tell you…I am _so _proud of the way you're handling this."

Quinn smiled back daintily and shrugged.

"It wasn't easy at first. I hated it, actually…I pretty much panicked and froze, like I was reliving the moment when Ron entered the room, but Mr. Wilson talked me out of it and it got easier after that."

Will bit into his apple and mulled over that thought as he chewed.

"Do you think I should suggest the others to talk to someone?" Will wondered, but Quinn shook her head.

"No, I made the decision to talk to someone myself," she explicated and brushed her fingers through her cropped hair. "That was an important moment for me. I don't think I would've done as well had someone forced me to go."

Will nodded and the bell sounded outside his office.

"Thanks for being here, Mr. Schuester," Quinn said as she rose to her feet. "It's nice knowing there's someone we can talk to."

Will smiled and stood as well. Suddenly, Quinn leaned forward and hugged him so quickly that he had no time to react before she had retreated.

"You're a really great teacher," she smiled one more time before turning to exit his office.

"Ms. Fabray."

Quinn glanced back. Will was giving her an unreadable expression.

"Do…do you think the others will be okay?"

Quinn's face fell and she mulled over the question before replying.

"I hope so."

* * *

The school day was nearing the end, but Finn couldn't keep his eyes open. There should be a rule against having class from 7:30 AM until 2:30 PM. No teenager had that sort of attention span, or energy span for that matter. Hadn't they done studies on that? That a teenager needs at least 10 hours of sleep? How could Finn possibly get 10 hours of sleep when he was up until 2 in the morning playing Call of Duty?

"_Finn_!"

Finn's eyes cracked open and he glanced to his right. Rachel was looking at him irritably.

"Wake up," she snapped quietly as Finn wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.

He turned to the front of the classroom and tried to pay attention. Something about Nazis…German…people…

"_Finn_."

Crap, his eyes had shut again. He sat up straighter and turned to give his girlfriend an appropriately apologetic look, but frowned when Rachel was looking not angry like he expected, but worried.

She nodded to Finn's left.

"Is he okay?" she whispered and Finn turned to look at Kurt.

Kurt's eyes were closed tightly and he rubbed his knuckles slowly over his forehead. There was a crease between his eyebrows.

"Kurt?" Finn asked apprehensively and his stepbrother squinted at him. "Migraine?"

Kurt only pursed his lips in response and closed his eyes again.

Finn glanced at the clock.

"There's only ten minutes left," he whispered softly. "Do you need to leave now or can you wait?"

Kurt waved his hand distractedly. His hand passed over his eyes to shut out the light.

"Kurt, what does that mean?"

The shorter boy just nodded.

"You can wait?"

He nodded again.

Finn, totally awake now, glanced over to the young man that sat on Kurt's left side.

Blaine, as Finn had expected, stared off into space, his eyes glazed over. Finn felt a flicker of irritation. How could he sit there and not know that his boyfriend was in pain? Sure, Finn hadn't known, but he was on the verge of zonking out. Blaine on the other hand was wide-awake and Finn knew he must've seen Kurt rubbing his head in his peripheral vision. Did he not care at all about Kurt's discomfort?

Ten minutes went by slowly, but when the bell rang, Finn stood up quickly and helped Kurt to his feet.

"You okay?" he wondered and Kurt just squinted his eyes. He had _explained _to Finn delicately once that when he was having an intense migraine, it hurt to nod, and it hurt to speak. Why his brother _insisted _on asking questions just baffled him.

"Rachel, I'm taking Kurt home," Finn informed as they headed to the hallway.

Rachel followed closely behind.

"Okay, but don't be late for Glee club! I've got some really great ideas for Regionals and—"

However, the young man who crossed their path without so much as a glance in their direction distracted Finn.

"Hey, Blaine," he interrupted as he watched Kurt's boyfriend start down the hall. Blaine turned to him and blinked. "I'm taking Kurt home because he's had a migraine all class period. Is it just that you didn't take notice or that you just didn't care about your _boyfriend_?"

"Finn, not now," Kurt mumbled upon hearing the annoyance in Finn's voice. "Please, just take me home."

Sure, Finn meant well, but making Blaine feel bad wouldn't make Kurt feel any better. In fact, his booming voice rattled inside his throbbing brain.

Finn glared at Blaine who was now staring inscrutably at Kurt. Then he sighed.

"Alright, let's go."

Rachel watched uneasily as the pair moved down the hallway slowly.

"I'll see you in Glee, Finn!" she called after them and waited for a response from Finn. There was none.

She huffed and turned to Blaine, but was startled to see that he had vanished. Hopefully he was already in the choir room.

She bounced on her toes at the thought and hurried over to that very location.

However, Blaine, along with the entire Glee club was missing from the choir room. It was only Mr. Schuester that sat on the piano bench and looked up at her when she entered.

She glanced down at him and they shared a silent mutual thought.

_No one's coming._

* * *

Blaine shut the front door and took off his shoes. He leaned down, picked them up by the backs, and headed up the stairs.

"Blaine?"

He glanced down to see his mother and father sitting on the couch in the hearth room. They stared up at him expectantly.

"Aren't you going to join us for dinner?" his mother asked.

"I'm going to shower first," he explained. "The school showers were shut off for maintenance."

"Alright, hurry up, please."

"Okay."

"_Blaine_," his father warned.

"Yes, ma'am," he corrected and then waited for his father's reluctant nod before starting back up the stairs.

"See?" Margaret murmured in a hushed tone. Her husband grimaced at her. "There's something off about him. I mean, I know he's still recovering, but…"

"No, I agree," Tom nodded and they headed into the kitchen where Tom poured two glasses of wine.

"Tom, I woke up at four in the morning the other night and came in here for a glass of water, and there he was, all dressed for the day. I asked him what he was doing and he told me he was going to go box before school started," Margaret swirled the red wine around in the glass before taking a sip. She then sighed. "Honey, I doubt the school was even _open_. I don't know what he did. And then he comes in, saying that the showers are broken…if they were broken, then how did he shower before school? It just doesn't make much sense. I'd hate to think he was lying to me."

"Well, it doesn't sound like he's being very truthful," Tom sighed and then looked at his feet. "You don't think…that he's seeing that boy?"

Margaret's eyes widened.

"I didn't think about that. That might be it. Tom, we need to talk to him."

The man with straight, black hair and olive complexion looked uncomfortable. He looked up at his wife who rubbed his shoulder.

"Honey, if that's what's going on, then we need to address it, but let's not assume anything, okay?"

Tom nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, Blaine appeared wearing grey sweatpants, a blue and white striped tank, and his hair gelled.

The first few minutes of dinner went by in an awkward silence. Margaret was the first to break it.

"Blaine?"

The young man who so resembled his father continued chewing without recognizing her.

"Blaine," his father spoke louder. Blaine looked up.

"Yes, sir?"

"Sweetheart," Mrs. Anderson spoke and pressed her napkin against the corners of her mouth. "Your father and I have something we need to talk to you about."

They could practically hear the gears turning in Blaine's mind, wondering what he had done wrong.

"Ma'am?"

"First off, where did you go this morning?"

"McKinley," Blaine answered immediately. "I boxed before school."

"The school isn't open that early, Blaine," Tom stepped in and sipped his wine. Blaine stared passively back. "Care to reassess that last statement?"

"I ran around the track outside until the school opened," Blaine stated coolly.

"I thought that the school's showers were broken?" Margaret asked softly. Blaine turned to her. "I think you care a bit more about personal hygiene then to walk around school sweaty and stinky all day. Am I right?"

Blaine's exterior did not crack.

"They were working this morning."

"Blaine, enough with the lies," Tom snapped. "What were you really doing?"

There was a long pause where Blaine sipped his water slowly, mulling over the perfect response.

"I went to the park," he answered softly.

His parents glanced at each other.

"And did what, exactly?" Tom raised a quizzical eyebrow. He hoped his son wasn't getting involved in drugs.

"I walked around and did some homework."

"Listen, Blaine," Tom suddenly had trouble keeping his voice level. "You were a _Dalton_ boy and never had trouble keeping up with your studies. Are you telling me that you woke up at four in the morning to do homework? Blaine, the school has been open for a _week_. How much homework can you possibly have?"

"We just want you to tell us the truth, honey," Margaret said nonthreateningly. "Were you with Kurt?"

Blaine's eyebrows rose up on his forehead. His mother hardly ever mentioned Kurt, and when she did, it was never around his father.

"No," he spoke honestly and something about the tone in his voice rang true.

"Were you really doing homework, Blaine?" Margaret asked. Tom observed her approach and took notice of the affect it had on Blaine. His aloofness wasn't as strong as before.

"I had my school books with me," Blaine nodded. "I wasn't necessarily doing homework."

"Were you…," Mrs. Anderson searched for the right words and her face broke into a distressed expression, "_soul searching_? Or mediating or something? Help us out here, Blaine. Help us understand."

Now Blaine felt guilty. He hated making his mother feel like this.

"I sat on the park bench," Blaine finally answered truthfully and lowered his eyes.

There was a pause.

"Doing what?" Tom prompted.

Pause.

"Nothing."

Pause.

"You…sat on a park bench for three hours…doing nothing?" Margaret asked for clarity.

Blaine nodded.

Tom and Margaret glanced at each other.

"Blaine, I think you need to see Mrs. Sennez."

Blaine looked up quickly at his mother.

Mrs. Sennez had been a family friend as long as Blaine could remember. She and her husband lived a block away and Mr. Sennez worked with Mr. Anderson for a long time.

Mrs. Sennez was a therapist.

"I don't think I need that, ma'am," Blaine explained. "I feel it's unnecessary."

"Blaine, I'm worried!" Margaret cried and Blaine shrunk back in his seat. "Now I know you went through a terrible experience, but sitting on a park bench for three hours is just not normal behavior! You need to open up and start dealing with the emotions that this behavior stems from."

Their son sighed and closed his eyes slowly. His detachment had returned.

"Honey, this isn't to punish you," Mrs. Anderson sympathized softly. "I'm just so worried about you."

"I'm sorry," Blaine opened his eyes again and then glanced to his father. Tom stared indefinably at his son. Blaine tried to plead with him nonverbally, but by the hardening in Tom's eyes, he knew the decision had been made.

"You see her the first opening she has," Tom affirmed.

Blaine sighed and his eyes once again dropped to his feet.

He hadn't been fooling anyone.

Blaine was a broken man.


	4. Chapter Three: Drop the World

**gleebles A/N**; Hey guys! I'd like to apologize for the length and choppiness of this chapter. It's setting up things for the next couple of chapters, and I'm back in school, so I don't have much time to write! The next chapter will be better, I promise!

As always, you can follow me on Tumblr to ask me any questions you have or just to chat! :)

aglassofgleeblesplease . tumblr . com

Enjoy!

Chapter Three  
"Drop The World"

_My word is my pride,  
__But wisdom is bleak and that's a word from the wise.  
__Served to survive, murdered, and bribed,  
__And when it got too heavy I put my burdens aside._

* * *

"Hey there, Mercedes," Will smiled brightly as one of his favorite students entered his office. Mercedes smiled back briefly and gestured to the empty seat in front of his desk.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked.

"By all means," answered Will, signaling emphatically. "You don't have to ask me that."

She lowered herself into the chair and wiggled uncomfortably.

There was a quiet pause, but Will waited patiently.

"I'm glad you're here," he offered, but she only quirked her lips in response and dug in her backpack for her bagged lunch.

They ate in silence for some time before she finally spoke up.

"Sorry I haven't been to Glee club," she murmured softly. "It's…I've been doing okay, but there's something…the _room_…"

"I understand," Will nodded. "You don't have to explain anything to me. You come back whenever you're ready."

She gave a genuine grin this time, and then she glanced back at the choir room.

"I might be here later today."

"Really?" he perked up. "You sure?"

She nodded.

"I've been thinking about it, and I think it's time to come back."

Will felt his heart throb in his chest and reached over to touch her hand. She returned his squeeze.

* * *

"Mr. Evans!"

Santana glanced to her right and watched as their algebra teacher, Ms. Boyd, gave Sam a significant look.

Sam was in the back of the classroom, crunching loudly on a bag of chips. Everyone that sat near him glared at him crossly.

"What?" he responded rudely, and Ms. Boyd's eyes widened.

"That's no way to talk to a teacher, Mr. Evans," she warned, and he rolled his eyes. "Also, there's no eating in my classroom."

"I didn't have lunch," he responded, and now everyone was watching him in both irritation and in awe. Ms. Boyd was a older woman who wasn't meant to be crossed and, if the look on her face was any indication, Sam wasn't going to walk away lightly.

"And why is that?"

"I was in Principal Figgin's office," he parried back easily.

A nasty smirk spread across Ms. Boyd's wrinkly face.

"Where you'll find yourself after school as well, Mr. Evans."

Sam rolled his eyes again, and Santana's eyebrows furrowed. This wasn't the Sam she knew.

"Now put your snack away."

"Actually, I think I'll finish it," Sam impolitely answered and tipped the bag into his mouth.

"Detention!" Ms. Boyd's face was turning purple with offense. "For the rest of the week!"

"Joke's on you because I already _have _detention for two weeks," Sam laughed.

Every face in the room turned to Ms. Boyd, ready for her response, but none came. She and Sam seemed to have engaged in a stare off where she glared and he gazed back uninterestedly.

"I'll see you after school," she finally exhaled softly, and the class resumed.

Santana turned her attention back to the front, but watched Sam from the corner of her eye.

* * *

"Sam!"

He turned around in the hallway and sighed.

"What do you want, Santana?"

The Hispanic cheerleader caught up with him, and they started down the hallway.

"I need to talk to you about something."

They turned a corner, and Santana grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and yanked him into a classroom.

"What the _hell_?" he called loudly and jerked his arm back. "What is your _problem_?"

"_Look_," Santana breathed angrily. "I know what you're going through. I know you're upset and frustrated and feeling guilty—"

"You don't know _what _I'm feeling—" Sam fumed.

"—but you need to stop lashing out at people."

Sam scoffed and then glared at her.

"The last person I'm going to take anger management advice from is _you_."

"Exactly," Santana nodded obviously. "That's why you can trust me when I say that you have a problem."

"I don't have a problem," he seethed and then pushed passed her into the hallway.

* * *

"What's up guys!" Puck grinned as he entered the choir room. "I've got great news!"

Kurt, Finn, Brittany, Sugar, and Rachel all looked up at him.

"You found a heated seat gaming chair?" Finn anticipated.

"Marc Jacob's opening a new line?" Kurt hoped.

"There's a new, effective diet and exercise plan for obese cats?" Brittany wondered.

"My daddy bought a new company?" Sugar predicted.

"You found more people and we can compete at Regionals?" Rachel guessed.

"Uh…no. Sorry." There was a group sigh. Puck continued only slightly deterred, "But it's even better!"

"Doubt it," Rachel huffed moodily.

"Shut it, Berry," Puck ordered and then grinned widely. "I'm throwing us a huge ass party!"

There was a pause.

"That sounds like fun!"

Everyone turned to Kurt in surprise. Puck looked the most dubious, and he tried to deduce whether Kurt was sarcastic or serious.

"I'm being serious," he insisted and everyone waited for him to say more. "I think it'll be fun for us all to, you know, loosen up a little and have some fun for a change."

"Yeah, see?" Puck immediately took in his only ally, as unpredictable as whom it was, and quickly rolled with his plan. "Those were my thoughts exactly. Who else is in?"

"We don't need to be worrying about a _party_," Rachel narrowed her eyes dangerously at Puck. "We _need _to be preparing for Regionals!"

Kurt turned to Finn and gave him an encouraging nod.

"You know what," he spoke up after a bit of prodding. "I think Puck and Kurt are right. We need to let loose a bit."

Rachel turned to Finn and gave him an exasperated look.

"It'll be fun, Rachel," he promised just as Will walked into the room.

Mr. Schuester started talking, but Rachel became enveloped by her own troubling thoughts.

Yes, it was nice that people were starting to become more positive. After all the horrible things that had happened a month ago, it was time for a change in atmosphere. However, they still only had six people on board for Regionals, and if Regionals didn't happen, New York didn't happen.

These bothersome reflections were effectively wiped from the brunette's mind the second Mr. Schuester mentioned the competition.

"What songs do you have planned?" he wondered halfheartedly, knowing the response he would get, but attempting at some ambition within the group. He briefly wondered about Mercedes, thinking that she usually had good suggestions, but noticed that she hadn't showed up, despite her promise. He pondered if she had lied to him or if she'd lied to herself, thinking she was ready to come back when she actually wasn't.

"Well I have a _lot _of ideas!" Rachel jumped to her feet and joined Mr. Schue in the center of the room. "You guys?"

Everyone stared at the pair in doubt.

"What is it?" Mr. Schue wondered.

"Regionals just seems like…" Kurt trailed off, but Puck finished it for him.

"It's not happening," he stated plainly.

This was the reaction Will had been expecting, but he attempted to push through it.

"It'll happen guys," he encouraged. "I know it will."

They all reluctantly nodded to appease their choir director, but the doubt resonated in each of them. Finn glanced up at the ceiling and stared at the tile where a bullet had pierced it only a month ago.

* * *

Artie shot at the zombies fiercely, jabbing the A button speedily.

"That's right _mothafuckaaa,_" he half-sang. "Yo ass is grass."

There was a shrill ringing, and he jumped in surprise. The game paused and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. It read, _Mike Chang._

There was a moment of stillness and silence as Artie stared at his phone, torn.

Then, he declined the call, turned off his game, and climbed into bed.


	5. Chapter Four: Every Day Is The Same

**gleebles A/N; **Hi guys! :D Quick little update, huh? I surprised even myself!

I've been working a lot on The Rest Will Follow, but I'm afraid to start posting chapters just yet. Once I get a few more chapters in, I'll begin posting! I have two previews for it on my youtube channel (you can find the link on my profile) and I think you guys will really enjoy it! :)

On with the story!

Chapter Four  
"Every Day Is Exactly The Same"

_I can feel their eyes are watching,  
__In case I lose myself again.  
__Sometimes I think I'm happy here,  
__Sometimes, yet I still pretend.  
__I can't remember how this got started,  
__But I can tell you exactly how it will end._

* * *

The door opened, and Dr. Gomez stepped into the room.

"Hello, Michael," he smiled and extended a hand toward Mike. He shook it and returned the grin. "Mr. Chang."

Mike's father grasped Dr. Gomez's hand as well.

"So, how're you feeling, Michael?" Dr. Gomez asked as Mike propped his leg onto the exam table. He knew the routine _very _well. "I know you said you had some nerve damage?"

"There might be," he teenager said.

"He complains about numbness," Michael Sr. said as the doctor started to feel around Mike's thigh.

"Close your eyes for me, Mike. I'm going to apply pressure onto certain places, and you let me know if you can feel it, okay?" Mike nodded, and there was pressure on the outside of his thigh. "Here?"

"Yes."

"Here?" Pressure above the bullet wound.

"Yes."

Pressure to the right of the bullet wound.

"Here?"

"Yes."

Dr. Gomez removed his fingertips from Michael's leg.

"Here?"

Mike's eyebrows furrowed.

"Michael, can you feel that?"

There was nothing. Mike opened his eyes and realized that his doctor's fingers were in contact with the skin below the bullet wound, but there was no sensation at all.

"Oh. No."

Michael Sr. grimaced.

"That's totally normal, Michael," Dr. Gomez smiled. "Nothing to worry about."

"Will it come back?" Mike wondered. "The feeling?"

"It might," he said, "but it might not. You may have permanent nerve damage, but it won't prevent you from doing anything you'd want to do. It's just the skin."

Mike nodded, feeling a bit more relieved. He'd thought that maybe his leg muscle wouldn't respond to his brain's impulses or something.

"So, when can I dance again?" Mike asked.

"Michael," his father sighed frustratingly, "is that really necessary? You should be grateful you're even alive."

There was an awkward pause in the room, but Dr. Gomez turned to Mike.

"Physical activities like dancing or running come after physical therapy."

"How long is physical therapy?" Mike asked before he could help himself.

There was another pause, and Mike found himself tensing for the news. By the look on his face, it didn't look like good news.

"Most likely...a few months."

* * *

"Mr. Schue?"

Will looked up and smiled at the sight of Santana at the threshold of his office. She stepped in slightly, and Will gestured to a seat.

"Hey Santana, what's going on?"

"I just…you said we could talk to you if we needed to?" she paused as she lowered herself into the free chair, and Will nodded. "Well…I'm sort of worried about Trouty Mouth."

Will hummed and raised his eyebrows.

"So am I. He seems so…unlike himself."

"He is," Santana nodded. "I know what he's going through. He feels like he's responsible for Rory's death. I was _there, _Mr. Schue. He couldn't have done anything."

Will stared at her. This was one of the instances where he realized just how much these kids had gone through; the turmoil they'd all suffered. He wished he could've helped them more, but, in moments like these, he just knew it was a matter of time and space before they returned back...not to _normal_, per se. They'd all be changed forever. But they'd come back eventually.

"He's lashing out and pushing away people that care about him…I know that better than anyone," she gave a dry laugh, and Will smiled sympathetically.

"You had to come to terms with something very difficult, Santana."

"I'm not…" she shook her head. "This isn't a pity party for me. I really did come to talk about Sam. I just…I want to help him. I've been there, and Finn was there for me. I want to be there for Sam in the same way."

Will smiled again.

"That's a beautiful gesture, Santana."

She smirked a bit.

"Yeah, well, I _am _awesome," but then her smile fell. "I don't know what to do though. He's so damn _angry_."

"Well, how was Finn supportive of you?" Will asked.

Santana thought for a moment.

"He…well, nothing in particular. He did a lot of things. He just didn't stop _trying_. He sang me a crappy rendition of _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ and yelled at me in the hallway and leveled with me…"

"Maybe you can do that for Sam?"

"I refuse to sing _Girls Just—"_

"No, I mean," Will interrupted with a hasty laugh, "I mean, don't stop trying. Corner him in the hallway. Catch him after classes. Let him know that you're going to be there for him, no matter what. Even if he yells or curses or stomps his feet. Let him know that you care about him and that you won't stop trying to get him to open up."

There was a pause, and then suddenly Santana's face split into a blinding grin.

"Thanks Mr. Schue," she stood. There was drive in her eyes again. "I appreciate the advice."

"You're welcome," Will smiled, watching her walk out of his office and into the choir room. "Thanks for stopping by."

* * *

The final bell sounded, drawing yet another school day to a close, and Kurt entered the hallway. Students filtered around him and, eventually, he spotted his sort-of-boyfriend (what were they anymore anyway?). Kurt quickened his pace and approached Blaine at his locker.

"Hello, stranger," Kurt breathed with a smile. Blaine glanced up as he opened his locker and gave a tightlipped smile. Kurt tried to not let that faze him. "Are you coming to Glee Club today?"

Blaine shook his head and continued packing his messenger bag. Kurt frowned and leaned against the locker heavily.

"Are you sure you don't want to? I haven't heard your dreamy voice in so long," he flirted and gave a pout.

Blaine's face remained neutral, and he closed his locker.

"Sorry, I have things to get done."

"Like what?"

Kurt tried _very _hard not to sound accusatory. He wasn't trying to pester Blaine or trying to back him into a corner…but Kurt missed Blaine a lot. Kurt tried his hardest to be understanding, and he was…for the most part. It was just difficult for him to stay calm while fighting for Blaine's attention.

"Boxing. Homework."

Blaine's eyes stayed locked on a vague spot of his locker, looking completely and utterly detached from their conversation. Kurt let out a frustrated sigh.

"Well…can we…I don't know, do something after you box? You can do your homework after, you know? After spending time with your boyfriend?"

"Not today, Kurt."

And with that, Blaine turned and walked toward the weight room, leaving Kurt behind staring unhappily after him.

When Kurt transferred to Dalton, Blaine had rejected him and being rejected by _the _Blaine Anderson was a definite blow to Kurt's ego. However, he got over it and, coincidently, Blaine did too.

After they got together, Kurt hadn't realized he'd ever feel rejection again. Yes, he expected it from perhaps job interviews or college applications, but never from Blaine.

Kurt didn't know how to deal with this type of rejection.

* * *

"Party's on tomorrow y'all!"

There was a bought of cheers and whoops as Puck entered the room with his arms held wide with his declaration.

"So where's it going to be?" Kurt asked, and Puck took a seat behind him.

"Lima Heights Hotel," Puck grinned.

"That's where Santana and I had sex for the first time," Brittany offered as if it were something they all needed or wanted to know.

"Lima Heights?" Finn asked, squinting his eyes dubiously. "Isn't that a bad part of town? I mean, that's what Santana's always telling us."

"It's fine," Puck dismissed, kicking up his feet and propping them onto the back of Kurt's chair. Kurt swatted them away in disgust. "Plus, you got me here, and no one dares to mess with the Puckasauras."

There was a group eye roll.

"I'll send you guys a text message tonight for confirmation," he said with a smile on his face.

"Oh my God!"

Everyone turned to Rachel and then followed her wide-eyed gaze to the door. Quinn walked in with a smile on her face.

There was a round of exclamations and cheers.

"Please tell me that you're willing to compete at Regionals!" Rachel demanded above the noise, standing.

Quinn nodded and accepted a hug from Brittany.

"As long as you guys will compete with me."

Rachel literally squeaked with excitement.

"Okay so we have Kurt, Finn, Puck, Artie, Sugar, Brittany, Quinn, and myself! This means we only need four more people! Tina will come back whenever Mike does. Brittany, you need to get Santana back, and Kurt, you need to get Blaine back!"

Everyone who had been excited moments ago now all stared at her in irritation, especially Puck who was miffed that she took attention off his party announcement.

"Rachel," Kurt started, feeling his blood boil. As if he could just _bring _Blaine back. He couldn't even have a real conversation with him. "Could you just relax with Regionals?"

"Kurt, I don't understand why _you _aren't concerned with the competition," Rachel glared. "Our New York dreams depend on our win."

Kurt looked contemplative, but Puck sighed.

"You are coming to my party, right Rachel? Because I'm sure there will be weed, and you _definitely use _a good trip."

* * *

Kurt left Glee practice and pulled out his cellphone.

He chose number three on speed dial, just behind _Voicemail_ and _Dad_, and held it to his ear.

No answer.

* * *

After he filled out paperwork and signed in, Blaine followed the secretary down a narrow hallway and into a warm office.

Mrs. Sennez smiled at him and stood.

"Hello, Blaine," she spoke and leaned forward to shake his hand. Something gleaming caught Blaine's eye, and he looked down at her chest to find a small, gold cross dangling from a chain around her neck.

"Hi," he replied as he shook her hand.

The office was bright with warm fall colors. The walls were painted a rich mahogany, and the curtains were woven from golden and scarlet fabrics. Even the carpet was a lush raspberry. Everything about it just _screamed _Mrs. Sennez.

Joy Sennez had always exuded a bright aura. It was the first thing Blaine noticed about her when they shook hands six years ago. He remembered that he had stared up at her and instinctively felt the corners of his mouth lift.

She wore her dark brown hair short, cut to her jawline, and curled it everyday. Her emerald eyes and white smile always shined incredibly bright. She was shorter than Blaine now and had gained a few pounds, but her kind eyes and smile remained the same.

"How are you doing today, Blaine?" she asked in a voice that Blaine had associated with safety.

"I'm good, ma'am," he returned and she gestured to the seat by the window. Blaine turned and lowered himself into it, while saying, "No couch?"

Mrs. Sennez gave a chuckle and took the seat perpendicular to Blaine's.

"I may be a shrink, but I'm a rebel."

Blaine smiled.

There was a pause.

"So Blaine, before we start, I'd like to go over a few rules here."

"There are rules?" Blaine raised his eyebrows, and Joy nodded.

"A few. Firstly, everything you say here will stay here. Secrets you tell me, emotions you're feeling, mistakes, regrets—everything. I'm not here to snitch to your parents or to judge you. Okay?"

Blaine nodded easily. He figured as much.

"And secondly, you run this show. You can tell me as little or as much as you'd like. However, the more you open up, the better you'll feel in the long run. Any questions?"

Blaine shook his head.

"So," Joy sat back and crossed her legs. "Would you like to dive right in? Or do you want me to ask you some questions?"

There was a pause. Blaine had no clue were to even begin, so he cleared his throat and responded, "Questions, if you'd like, ma'am."

"Sure," Mrs. Sennez smiled and, without skipping a beat, jumped into a conversation. "So your dad contacted me about talking. Did you have any say in the matter?"

Blaine gave a short laugh.

"No, that's not how things go in our house, ma'am."

"Call me Joy, Blaine."

Blaine grimaced.

"Can I at least call you Mrs. Sennez?"

She laughed.

"Such a stubborn gentleman. Yes, Mrs. Sennez is fine. So how _do _things go in your household?"

Blaine shrugged.

"My dad calls the shots."

"Does that make you angry?"

Blaine nodded.

"Do you think you need to talk to me?"

"No offense ma— Mrs. Sennez, but no I think I'm doing fine on my own."

"Tell me why you left Dalton, Blaine."

There was a long pause as Blaine searched his neighbor's face. Blaine's sexuality was a pretty well kept secret around the neighborhood. Blaine's eyes flickered down to the cross on her neck again.

"Just needed a change."

"What was at McKinley that you couldn't have at Dalton?"

Another break.

"I didn't want to wear a uniform anymore."

Things continued like this for a long while. Mrs. Sennez asked compromising questions, and Blaine evaded them expertly. It wasn't until they reached the topic of the school shooting that Blaine started completely slipping away.

"So you were in one of the rooms, but you had friends in the other?" she asked, and Blaine froze up.

"Yes."

"Was there communication between your room and the other?"

"Some."

"Like what, Blaine?"

There was a pause, and the phone in Blaine's pocket vibrated. He glanced down at it and saw Kurt's name lit up on the phone.

"Do you need to take that?"

"No." He ignored it and tried to focus. "What was the question?"

"Communication?"

"Right…they talked on the phone sometimes."

"Did you hear gunshots?"

Blaine hissed out a breath.

"It's okay, Blaine."

"I'm fine. Yes, I did."

"But you had no way of knowing who'd been shot. If it had been one of your classmates or friends."

It wasn't a question. Mrs. Sennez was far too good at her job.

"No."

His phone vibrated again.

"That must've been hard for you."

Suddenly, Blaine stood up.

"I have somewhere I need to be. My…it's my girlfriend. She's…probably, she's not—she's worried…"

Mrs. Sennez stared at him with an eerie, _knowing _look that unsettled Blaine greatly. She must've known he had been filtering everything he'd said for the majority of the conversation, and, based off that look, she must've known he was lying about _this_, but she didn't push him.

"I'll see you for your next appointment, Blaine," she sat back in her chair, and her necklace gleamed once again in the light. She smiled sadly at him. "I know you're hurting and that talking about it hurts even more, but talking is the only way you're going to feel better."

Blaine hesitated, but then turned and left her office.

* * *

Puck sent the same text message to nearly everyone in his phone.

_Party tomorrow. Lima Heights Hotel Banquet Hall.__ 10 o'clock. Alcohol will be provided. Be there._

He walked into the kitchen and scrounged around the pantry for a bit. Then, his phone buzzed.

Four responses so far. All confirming their attendance.

He smirked at the phone, and then he glanced at the pile of mail on the countertop.

There it was, lying amid the bills and magazine subscriptions.

Another letter.

* * *

**gleebles A/N;** I had a knee surgery three years ago, and I have some pretty extensive nerve damage. Usually I have to say something like "I hope this is accurate!" but in this case, it totally is. Haha ;)

Next chapter is the **party chapter **and it. Is. WILD. I'll be posting a teaser to my tumblr within the next week or so. I hope you guys love it! :)

Please review!

Ps- Did anyone else see the DIVA full performance?! O.M.G. I am SO attracted to Blaine MY GOODNESS. I don't have words.


	6. Chapter Five: Comfortably Numb

**gleebles A/N; **Hi everyone! Sorry about the wait, but proceed now with happy hearts!

:)

Chapter Five  
"Comfortably Numb"

_Now I've got that feeling once again,  
__I cannot explain,  
__You would not understand.  
__This is not how I am,  
__I have become comfortably numb._

* * *

Kurt was flipping through the morning paper and eating a bowl of cereal when Finn came padding into the kitchen, yawning and blinking blearily.

"Hey, Kurt," he spoke, his voice still thick with sleep. "How'd you sleep? Can I get you anything?"

"I'm good," Kurt responded on instinct, not looking up from the article.

"How's your head? Want me to drive today?"

Kurt took a bite so he wouldn't give a snappy retort. _He's just trying to help_, he reminded himself forcefully. _Be nice._

"I can drive," he ended up saying. "But thank you for your concern."

Finn nodded and poured himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes, settling across the table.

"So, how's Blaine?" he asked through a mouthful of milk and flakes.

Kurt blinked.

"What?"

"Blaine? Anderson?"

"I know what my boyfriend's name is," Kurt deadpanned. "But why are you asking about him?"

Finn shrugged.

"He's been…out of it. Since…you know. And I was wondering if maybe he was different with you."

Kurt studied Finn and then lowered his gaze to his bowl. He swirled the spoon around thoughtfully, pushing the cereal around.

"Not really," he murmured. "I mean…I don't know how he is."

"What do you mean?"

Kurt bit his lip.

"He's…distant. He doesn't really talk to me anymore."

There was a silence, and Finn stared at Kurt with his mouth full. Eventually he swallowed, dropped his spoon into the bowl, wiped his mouth, and sat up straight.

"Kurt," he spoke directly, anger simmering in his stomach. "That's ridiculous. You guys are _dating."_

"I'm aware."

"He can't treat you like that," Finn insisted. "And you can't let him."

"He's…" Kurt trailed off and sighed. "He's just dealing with a lot right now. I'm giving him space."

"Yeah, but Kurt," Finn shook his head at his stepbrother, "that's no excuse. I treat Rachel well even though—"

"That's enough," Kurt spoke finally and he stood. "Blaine treats me like a prince. It's just that recently he's been going through stuff. And I'm going to give him the time he needs. Okay? I don't really need your input."

Kurt turned to head toward the sink, not really waiting for the taller boy's response. The sound of running water filled the silent kitchen. Then it stopped, and Kurt wiped his breakfast dish absentmindedly. "Are you excited for the party?" he asked, changing the subject.

Finn looked up at Kurt. "Yeah, what about you?"

"Mhm," he replied, then gave a chuckle. "I think it'll be fun to have a _good _experience with alcohol for once. I mean, the first time I'd ever been under the influence, I threw up on Ms. Pillsberry's shoes, and the other two instances involving alcohol, Blaine sucked face with Rachel, and then he screamed at me in the parking lot of S—"

"Kurt, have you lost your mind?"

Kurt turned around, mildly surprised. "What?"

"Kurt, you can't _drink. _You had a concussion!"

His pale skin flushed darkly.

"I haven't had a headache in days," he crossed his arms defensively.

Finn pushed back from the table, the chair squeaking uncomfortably against the tiled floor. "I can't believe you'd _actually _consider—"

"Finn, I'm not going to let this _thing _control my life!"

"Overcoming obstacles is one thing. Risking your _life _is another! You'll _die_—"

"_God_, and people call _me _a drama queen!" Kurt shouted, exasperated. "Finn I'm not going to—"

"You have no _clue _what's going on in your brain," Finn contested, nearly pleading with Kurt. "I can't let you go if you're going to do that."

"I'm going to go to that party tonight," Kurt declared suddenly. "And you can come if you want."

He was silent for a long time. He half contemplated ratting Kurt out to Burt, but he knew Kurt would never speak to him again if that were the case. He didn't have much of a choice; he had to go and look after him. If he didn't, who knew what sort of trouble he'd get into?

"Fine," he said, untruth coloring his tone. "Alright, I'll go and you can drink."

"Perfect," Kurt spoke, still miffed, "but I didn't need your permission anyway." He shut the cabinet, turned, and stalked off, leaving Finn to stare unhappily after him.

* * *

"Hey man!" Mike greeted with a grin. He crutched toward Artie's locker quickly. "What's up? I haven't seen you online in forever."

Artie blinked up at Mike and he gave a short laugh. "Yeah, I know. Crazy, huh?" He turned his wheel, readjusting the books in his lap, and began wheeling down the hall. Mike placed the crutches between his body and arms and began after him.

"Look at us," he laughed. He looked around and saw people staring at him. There were whispers glossing over his ears, "_He's the one who was shot," "He's not going to college anymore," "He used to be a dancer," "I think he took the bullet for the wheelchair guy," "Why did he do that?" _"We look like we escaped from the hospital," Mike kidded, turning a corner with his friend.

"That's a funny joke," Artie said, his tone blunt, and Mike glanced down at him.

"Are you going to the party tonight?" he asked, and Artie shook his head immediately.

"No, I don't think so," he replied before moving into his classroom. That didn't deter Mike though, and he followed him right in.

"Hey…did I do something wrong?"

Artie froze and glanced up at Mike. His face was torn with concern and guilt, two things he should not be feeling.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, feeling regret for all the times Mike tried to connect with him online and he ignored it. "I've been…really busy lately."

There was a pause as more students filtered into the room.

"Okay," Mike spoke slowly. "Well…you should come to the party tonight. It'll be fun."

Artie smiled at him awkwardly.

"Okay, yeah…we'll see."

Mike did not look convinced, but he gave a half smile and crutched out of the door, whispers following him all the way to his next class.

* * *

The choir room was buzzing with the excitement of Puck's party. Everyone, Kurt, Finn, Puck, Brittany, Quinn, Artie, and Sugar, was smiling and laughing and poking fun at Puck since he'd shaved his head again.

"You look like Shemar Moore," Sugar spoke, leaning close and running a hand over his scalp. "It's really hot."

"You think he looks like the killer whale from SeaWorld?" Finn asked Sugar, bewildered.

"No, that's _Shamwow_," Brittany corrected.

"That's _Shamu_," Quinn scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

"Hello everybody!" Rachel walked in – more like _floated _in – with a broad grin on her face. "I hope we're feeling glorious this morning! Mr. Schue and I talked it over, and we think we have the perfect song selections for Regionals!"

There was a pause. Nobody besides Rachel looked particularly enthused by this declaration.

"It's a mash up of _Fly _with _I Believe I Can Fly!"_

The room remained quiet. Rachel's smile faltered only slightly.

"Oh, come on! It's empowering and uplifting and inspiring…everything we need! We'll inspire the audience and take home the coveted Regionals trophy and then it's off to Nationals for us!"

"Like you know what we need," Quinn mumbled softly, and there was suddenly tension that colored the atmosphere.

Rachel's face remained politely bright. "Excuse me?"

"Rachel," Quinn looked around at everyone and they nodded in silent encouragement, "I'm sorry, but you don't know what we went through or what we need."

"Look, I'm just trying to help you guys out!" Rachel's face looking like it could split from her intense grin. "You're all so _bummed _all the time and we're not going to have a chance at Regionals with all this negativity—"'

"Rachel, this isn't all about you, okay?" Finn finally spoke up, and everyone turned to him in surprise. Rachel's face fell. "We aren't in here to compete at Regionals. We're here to come together as a group. As a family. To appreciate each other's company and sing and just enjoy the fact that we made it out of that nightmare alive."

The short brunette stood in the center of the classroom, staring at her boyfriend with an unreadable expression. Finn stood his ground and stared right back.

"Alright guys!" Mr. Schuester's voice sounded from the door and the students, excluding Rachel and Finn who's eye contact never broke, turned to him. "How're we feeling today?"

No one responded.

"Come on guys," Mr. Schue approached the center of the room and gestured for Rachel to take a seat which she reluctantly did a moment later, "it's Friday! Don't we have any fun ditties we'd want to sing today? Right? To kick off the weekend?"

A smile slowly spread across Puck's face.

"Mr. Schue?"

"Yeah, Puck?"

The newly shaven-headed teen stood and joined him in the center of the choir room. He turned to look at all his classmates with a smirk. The rest of them began smiling back at him. "I think I know _just _the song to start this weekend off right. Ready?" he turned to look at the band. "Hit it."

* * *

LMFAO's Party Rock pulsed through the walls of the dingy Lima Height's Hotel Banquet Hall. Finn, Rachel, Sam, Santana, Quinn, Mike, Tina, Mercedes, Sugar, Brittany, Blaine, and Kurt could hear it as they crammed into the dilapidated elevator. They glanced at each other uneasily as the numbers above the sliding doors slowly increased.

"Could Puck have picked a more sketch place?" Tina asked, her nose scrunched up in disgust and discomfort as Sugar nearly elbowed her in the gut. "This looks like a _Criminal Minds_ episode waiting to happen."

"This is where Santana and I—"

"Brittany, _hush_, no one cares about your sex life with Santana," Mercedes scoffed from the back corner of the elevator just as it pinged and the doors opened.

"I beg to differ."

"Puck!" Finn greeted with a smile and he fist bumped the tanned boy as they piled out of the elevator. "How's the party, man?"

"In full swing, you guys came just in time," he grinned. "Follow me."

The troupe followed Puck down a long hallway, and they listened to his account of who left with who and who was dancing on the tables topless already.

Suddenly, time seemed to freeze for Kurt, Sam, Quinn, and Santana. The boy with mousy hair and glasses exited the Banquet Hall, his face pale, and his expression angry.

The four students stared at Daniel and when he recognized them, Daniel stared back.

It was a surreal moment. Daniel slowly tore his eyes away from the group, toward the doors, then back.

"You guys don't want to go in there," he spoke, his eyes boring into Kurt's.

Silence.

"And why not?" Puck asked, affronted. "This is _my _party. You gotta problem with it?"

"Puck," Kurt yanked on his sleeve gently. "Don't."

Daniel's eyes flicked to Quinn, then Sam, then ultimately trailed back to Kurt.

He shook his head and passed them.

There was a pause.

"Come on," Puck grunted finally, though many of them craned their necks to watch Daniel leave.

"Kurt, who was that?" Finn asked as they continued down the hall and conversation picked up again.

"No one, Finn—" Kurt began, his anger already beginning to bubble hotly because he _knew _his stepbrother would say something the moment he recognized that Daniel was gazing at him.

"He seemed to know you from somewhere," Finn persisted. "Who was he?"

"He was in the room with us, okay?" Kurt snapped, glaring up at him. "I don't want to talk about it. I want to have a good time tonight and just not think about it for once, okay? Please, drop it."

Finn blinked unhappily and then glanced over his shoulder again, but the boy had already vanished.

Eventually they entered the Banquet Hall and music erupted around them. The people inside – _hundreds _of them – were bathed in multicolored lights. There were bodies _everywhere_, dancing in the center of the room, chatting near a long table full of booze and snacks, on the stage, singing, dancing, stripping, and in shadowy corners, tongues tangling together in an alcohol-induced lust. The music was loud, and it pulsed through anyone in the vicinity in booming beats.

"What do you think, guys?" Puck grinned, opening his arms wide, presenting his creation with pride.

"How did you manage to convince the staff to provide _that _much alcohol for minors?" Mike asked with wide eyes, adjusting his crutches uncomfortably.

Puck threw a dubious expression at him.

"How many times need I explain?" he complained. "I'm the Puckasaurus."

"Well," Kurt turned and smiled at Blaine. "Would you like a drink? I'll get us some."

Blaine shrugged at him half-heartedly, his eyes moving around the room.

"Kurt, why don't we dance first?" Finn advised as their group began to disperse. Mike and Tina made their way to a couch at the edge of the room, Tina walking slowly as Mike carefully crutched beside her; Brittany and Santana headed straight for the dance floor, their hands linked together; Mercedes, Rachel, Quinn, and Sugar hurried off toward the stage, bickering over which song they would sing together; and Sam made a beeline straight to the table covered with liquor, his heart already set on getting trashed.

Kurt wrinkled his nose at Finn.

"Um…no thank you?"

"Not…with _me_," Finn clarified, his face heating up. "I meant with Blaine."

"First," Kurt spoke, his voice rising, "I'm getting a drink."

"No, you _aren't_," his stepbrother replied forcefully before turning to Blaine. "Don't you have anything to say about this?"

Blaine blinked up at Finn, his expression surprised.

"Yeah _you,_ Blaine—"

"God, Finn, leave him alone," Kurt huffed, taking Blaine's hand, and started pulling him toward the tables after Sam.

Finn hurried in front of them.

"_Finn!_" Kurt snapped, his face red.

"Kurt, you're being _stupid!_"

"Excuse me—?!"

"You just had a freaking concussion—"

"I'm not going to let it—"

"Control your life, I know what you said, but this isn't bravery, Kurt, it's _stupidity—"_

"Don't you _dare—!"_

"Let's have a toast for Irish!"

The room, excluding Finn and Kurt, all quieted and they turned to the jock that had a liquor bottle in hand. He swayed dangerously.

There were a few shifty glances, and tension clouded over the students.

"C'mon!" the jock barked out a laugh. "C'mon, let's honor his memory!"

There were some uncomfortable laughs, some agreed, just as hammered as the jock clearly was, and others remained stony-faced.

"Finn, don't _touch _me—"

"What would Burt say if he found out you were going to drink?"

"You _didn't _tell him. Tell me you didn't tell him."

"I _didn't, _but I thought about it—"

"Finn you are _such _an _ass—"_

"What's the big deal guys?" the jock asked, his blond hair sticking up everywhere, his face red and sweaty. "He was _Irish_, he'd want us to drink!"

"_What _did you say?"

Sam had joined the conversation. Puck followed closely behind.

On stage, the four girls began singing _Let's Get It Started _by the Black Eyed Peas, clearly unaware of what was happening on the dance floor.

"Sam, calm down, he's blasted."

"Don't you dare," Sam threatened, crowding the blonde football player's space. "Don't you _dare_ say another word about him."

"What?" he laughed, engulfing Sam in a hot blast of breath tainted by booze, "it's not like he's going to find out about it!"

Suddenly, there was a crack as Sam's fist slammed into his face.

Utter chaos broke out instantaneously.

The girls on stage screamed as bottles were thrown across the room and shattered right behind them. They quickly ducked and jumped off stage, making for the doors.

There were shouts and yells and screams and punches and shoves.

Kurt turned, looking for Blaine, and to his left, an elbow flew at him and knocked him in the side of the face.

"Ow, watch it!" he huffed, and suddenly, Finn was there, gripping his shoulders tightly.

"What's your name?" he yelled over the music. "Do you know what day it is? Where you are?"

"E_nough_!" Kurt snapped, pushing him in the chest.

Across the room, Santana wrapped her hands around Sam's forearms and yanked backwards.

"Let's _go, _Trouty Mouth!" she screamed. "Stop!"

"Let go of me!" he roared and dove back into the mix.

"Did you even _see _what just happened?" Finn bellowed at Blaine who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

He raised an eyebrow at Finn.

"Excuse me?" he asked, but it was barely loud enough to be heard over the chaos.

"Your boyfriend was just punched in the face!"

"Oh my _God, _Finn—"

"You are a terrible boyfriend to Kurt!"

"It's _fine_, can we just go before the police show up?"

The trio exited the Banquet Hall, Kurt blinking away a wicked headache and Finn and Blaine still bickering.

"You're one to talk about being a good boyfriend," Blaine shot back. "I heard you yelled at your girlfriend today in front of the whole choir room!"

"At least we communicate!" Finn parried back as they got into the elevator. The shouts from the other room began to dim.

"Okay, _please_," Kurt pleaded with them. "Please, can you two shut up? You're giving me a head- _oh_!"

The elevator jolted. Kurt looked up at the numbers above the sliding doors, noticing that both the lights for floors 2 and 3 were lit up but the cabin didn't move.

"_Hey guys, you alright?"_

Finn and Kurt jumped at the voice to their right.

"Yeah…" Kurt spoke softly, toward the speaker.

"_We're fixing the problem. Hang tight."_

"Well, great," Kurt huffed. "Could you two keep it together while we're…Blaine?"

Blaine had pressed himself against the back corner of the elevator, his face completely shut down. His eyes stared straight ahead with no fear in them, only numbness. His mouth was set in a rigid line, and he didn't move.

"This is what he was like during the shooting," Finn spoke, his voice low.

"Blaine?" Kurt said delicately. He moved around Finn to be at Blaine's side. "Sweetheart?"

Blaine didn't respond.

"It's no use, Kurt," Finn said, standing beside them awkwardly, his hands in his pockets.

"Shut up, Finn," Kurt snapped. "I've had enough of you today, okay? Just shut up."

Finn blanched at that and stared moodily ahead as Kurt tried, and failed, to break Blaine out of his catatonic state.

Not long after, the elevator sparked to life and they descended the final two floors down to the lobby. The moment the doors dinged and opened, Blaine was out of them, walking ahead with his hands in his pockets.

"Blaine!" Kurt called after him.

They made their way to the parking lot, but Blaine didn't head toward the truck. Instead, he started for the sidewalk.

"God, just…," Kurt turned to Finn. "I'm going to walk him home, I guess. Will you meet me at his house?"

"Okay," Finn agreed easily, knowing that Blaine was a total vegetable in this state. If he wouldn't listen to Kurt, he wouldn't listen to anyone. So Finn hopped into the truck and drove ahead.

"Blaine, slow down a bit, okay?" Kurt spoke softly, trying to keep up. It was an odd effort considering how long his legs were and how miniature his boyfriend's were. "We're just taking a walk, not training for the Olympics."

Blaine didn't respond; he just continued forward at the same pace.

They walked the rest of the way to Blaine's house like that. In total silence. It was awkward and Kurt didn't know what to do. Never had he witnessed Blaine so…closed off. He felt almost afraid of him. Was this some sort of medical condition? How was Kurt supposed to act around him when Blaine was in this state? He sighed and followed, slightly behind.

Eventually, Kurt spotted the truck in the Anderson's driveway, and his boyfriend _(ex?)_ made his way straight for the front door. Before Blaine entered, however, Kurt snatched his arm and held him back.

He rang the doorbell, clutching at Blaine tightly.

"Let me talk to your parents," Kurt said softly. "They need to know."

Blaine was unresponsive.

There was a long pause, and then the door opened. Blaine pushed it in all the way, ripped his arm from Kurt, brushed right by his dad, and then headed upstairs.

Tom Anderson watched him depart in surprise. He blinked, then made the awkward turn back to Blaine's…boyfriend.

"Hi, Mr. Anderson," Kurt greeted, remembering just how chilly they were with one another. "Blaine told you we were going to a party, right?"

Tom blinked at the shorter man. If you could call him a man.

"Yeah, he did."

"We were on the elevator, and it got stuck," he explained matter-of-factly. Mr. Anderson didn't _dislike _Kurt. He just…didn't care to get to know him. And if that was the case, then that was just peachy with Kurt. He wouldn't particularly care to get to know Mr. Anderson either. "He sort of…" Kurt waved a hand in front of his face. "He's not responding to anything."

Tom looked over his shoulder again at the staircase.

"Okay. I'll take care of it."

He gave a curt nod, and the younger man turned to leave.

"Uh…thanks," Mr. Anderson spoke. "I appreciate your help."

Kurt glanced at him and felt some of the ice chip away. "You're welcome, sir," he softly responded. "Enjoy your evening."

Mr. Anderson watched as Kurt moved off his stoop and towards the old clunker parked in his driveway. The boy in the driver's seat gave him a short wave, and Tom, uncomfortable, nodded back. Then they drove away.

There was a long moment where Tom just stood there, contemplating. Thinking. Wondering.

Then, he turned and closed the door.

* * *

**gleebles A/N; **Hope you all enjoyed! :) As always, check out my Tumblr if you'd like - it's the fastest way to receive a response from me if you need/want to get in touch!

xo


	7. Chapter Six: Marching On

**gleebles A/N; **Hi everyone! I know it's been a while again (my apologies, school was crazy busy toward the end!), but hopefully I'll crank out the rest of this story by the end of the summer. I certainly think I can do it; I'll have a lot of free time!

For now, enjoy chapter six!

Chapter Six  
"Marching On"

_There's so many wars we fought,  
__There's so many things we're not.  
__But with what we have,  
__I promise you that,  
__We're marching on._

* * *

"It was fun, don't get me wrong," Quinn spoke evasively, but Puck just stared moodily ahead, his arms crossed from his spot in the back of the choir room. "It's just that the police pretty much ruined the whole thing."

"What good party doesn't have a run-in with the cops?" Puck grumbled defensively. Kurt, Finn, Rachel, Brittany, Santana, Sugar, Artie, Quinn, and Puck all sat in the choir room and reminisced (excluding Rachel) last Friday night when Puck's party took a catastrophic nosedive after some concerned patrons of the Lima Heights Hotel called 911. Most of the students had snuck out before the police officers actually showed up, but a few unlucky students were carted off to jail for the night.

"Well I for one am glad I didn't attend this little get-together," Rachel spoke loftily.

"Yeah, us too," Artie mumbled under his breath.

"Ignoring you," Rachel snapped. "A mark like _that _on my record might keep me from my Manhattan destiny. Kurt, I hope this was a learning experience for you. Our entire future could've been ruined because you wanted to _get crunk_," she spoke, using air quotations, and Quinn and Santana both snorted.

Kurt rolled his eyes, but didn't comment at her holier-than-thou advice.

"Tina," Rachel greeted when the Asian woman entered the room. "Welcome back! How are you?"

"Fine?" Tina replied in confusion, but smiled at Sugar when she patted the plastic chair next to her.

"So, are you up for Regionals?" Rachel asked, not beating around the bush, and everyone groaned in aggravation. "Where's Mike?"

"I don't know if I'm performing yet," Tina replied icily. "And Mike was grounded after his dad bailed him out of jail last night."

There was a group flinch. If there was anyone in the Glee club that couldn't afford a night in jail, it was Mike. His family was extremely strict, and the punishments were harsh. There was no telling how severe his sentence would be.

"Well, oh well," Rachel brushed off the loss easily. "It's not like he would've offered anything anyway. He can't sing, and now he can't dance—"

"_Enough_," Puck snapped, and Rachel turned to him, looking mildly surprised. "You have got to be the single most irritating person I've ever met, and if you weren't a Jew, then you and I would have a _serious _beef."

"I thought Jews couldn't eat beef?" Brittany whispered to Santana, but she held up a hand, waiting for the epic battle to go down between the Glee club's leader and its resident badass.

"Hey guys!" Mr. Schue grinned as he walked into the room, effectively shifting the focus. "Wow, look at all of you! It's like our entire family is here. Except…" His eyes swiped over the room. "Sam and Mike?"

"And Blaine," Kurt pointed out.

"Ah, that's right. Thank you, Kurt. Wow…" he gave a slight laugh and took a seat on the stool in the center of the room. "I cannot begin to describe the joy I feel when I see all of you in here together."

The students all smiled back at their teacher, for once united in their appreciation for one another.

"It's a miracle," Mercedes said softly.

"It really is," Mr. Schuester agreed. "The fact that you all are here right now is a miracle."

"I concur," Rachel piped up, and everyone visibly tensed, the content moment rapidly fading. "And just think about it! We only need two more people to compete! So, I'll just commandeer Sam and Blaine, and we'll be set!"

Everyone in the classroom, including Mr. Schue, turned slowly to stare at Rachel with wide, incredulous eyes.

"What?" she asked with an optimistic smile on her face.

"Has…has she even spoken to either of them?" Mercedes asked Finn disbelievingly. "Those two are the most damaged out of all of us."

"She's stuck in her own little world," Finn replied with a sigh.

In the back, Puck set his jaw and glared at Rachel, but decided to hold back his anger.

For now.

* * *

"Blaine!" Kurt called out. He spotted his boyfriend — Oh, who was he kidding? Without even breaking up they acted like ex-boyfriends — down the hall, and he jogged after him.

Blaine didn't acknowledge him.

"Blaine," Kurt tried again, but the shorter boy pushed the door leading to the back parking lot, and he left the school without a backwards glance.

* * *

"Hey, Artie?"

The teenager in the wheelchair turned and looked up at the newest addition to the Glee club. Tina bit her lip nervously and gestured down the hall away from the stream of students filtering out of the choir room.

Artie reluctantly followed after her, sensing what this conversation would hold.

"So…what's up?" he asked after they moved out of earshot from the other members. "Need help with calculus again?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Tina waved off, but then fingered the strap of her messenger bag. "It's…well, honestly, it's about Mike."

Artie remained passive.

"What about Mike?"

"Well, I'd like to know why you're avoiding him."

"H-How do you know I'm avoiding him?" Artie asked, trying to remain cool, but his stutter gave him away.

Tina gave a small, sad smile.

"He talks about you," she explained softly. "He's worrying about it all the time. Sometimes I think you're more of a girlfriend to him than I am," she gave an awkward laugh.

At her words, Artie felt a jolt of remorse at all the times he'd rejected Mike's attempts at talking and hanging out and playing games. Now that he thought about it, it seemed like he hadn't had a real, direct conversation with him since the day of the school shooting.

Which of course was what this was all about.

"I feel guilty," Artie admitted, lowering his head in shame. "Mike had all these dreams and goals and…they're gone now. Because of me."

"Oh, Artie," Tina gave a soft sigh. "You're Mike's _best friend_. He's not mad at you, Artie. He would gladly take a bullet for you again, if he had to."

"I know," he said, looking sad. "That's what makes me feel so bad. He literally risked everything — dancing, dancing _colleges_. And he did that for me. A guy who couldn't use his legs in the first place."

"Yeah, but Artie, how do you know that that bullet wouldn't have hit somewhere else on you?" Tina intervened gently. "What if it hit you in the abdomen? What if it had killed you on the spot? Can you imagine the regret _Mike _would have if he _hadn't _stepped in front of you?"

Artie didn't respond.

"Mike doesn't blame you," Tina dropped down to look her ex-boyfriend in the eye. "Not for a second. All he really feels is lonely. He _really _misses you, Artie. Will you talk to him?"

Tina straightened up then and smoothed down her dress while Artie contemplated. He felt his guilt ebb away slightly, and he glanced up to give her a half-smile.

"I could probably do that," he finally said.

Tina smiled serenely, but then she sobered up again.

"And Artie?"

"Yeah?"

"Mike doesn't blame you," she repeated.

"I know," he said, looking confused.

"Well…if you know that, then you should know that you don't have to blame yourself, either."

With that, Tina gave him a final smile, and then she walked away leaving Artie staring with his mouth slightly ajar after her.

* * *

Tom Anderson was just considering taking all his paperwork and shoving it down the paper shredder all at once. It was _so _tiresome, and he was already running on four hours of sleep since the neighbor's dog began barking at two in the morning, and Tom always had a hard time falling back asleep. Instead he had flip flopped all night, attempting to get comfortable, but only succeeded in waking his wife up multiple times.

Now the smell of supper came wafting through his closed office door, and his resolve to finish the stack of papers he was studying slowly began crumbling. He was debating between finishing the paragraph he was on and going to pour himself a glass of red wine when his phone rang.

Plucking it from his trouser's pocket, he immediately answered.

"Joy, how are you?"

_"Good evening, Tom," _came Mrs. Sennez's voice, and Tom's eyebrows immediately contracted at her tone. _"I'm fine, how are you?"_

"Well, now I'm a little concerned, to be quite honest. You don't sound like you have good news to report." Tom dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair, revolving slightly. "Is Blaine still struggling?"

_"Well, that's the thing," _she spoke, sounding concerned. _"Blaine hasn't attended any of his appointments this week_._"_

Tom's gaze hardened, and he took a deep breath.

"Is that so?"

_"Be kind, Tom. He's struggling with something difficult. He needs your support."_

"Alright," he assured, standing from his desk and pulling on his tie. "Thanks for calling."

_"Have a good night, Tom. Tell Margaret I say hello."_

In the kitchen, Tom poured two glasses of wine as he inconspicuously studied his son who was setting the table. Blaine _seemed _normal, if you didn't account for the ridiculous amount of goop he put into his hair and the silly bowties he liked to wear. Other than that, plus a pair of dark circles under his eyes, he looked normal. So Tom tried to figure out why he'd skipped his appointments.

He figured, as he took a seat at the table, that maybe it had to do with the episode he'd had at his friend's party. Apparently it was wilder than Tom had anticipated because Blaine had become even more withdrawn from he and his wife. Tom began to wonder if maybe anyone could reach Blaine at this point, even his friend who dropped him off Friday night. Was there anyone who could break through Blaine's icy exterior?

"So, Blaine," Margaret asked her son as she settled down at the table with the two men, "how was your day?"

"_Blaine_," Tom snapped when his son didn't respond right away.

He blinked, looking at his mother.

"I'm good, how are you?"

There was a moment of silence, and Margaret shared an uneasy glance with Tom.

"How was your _day_, your mother asked," Tom corrected, and Blaine lowered his gaze to his plate of chicken, rice, and broccoli casserole.

"It was good, ma'am," he said, lifting a fork to his mouth. Tom knew that route, eating to keep from answering further questions. He used to do that when he was a boy.

Well, too bad for Blaine because he wouldn't give up without a fight.

"So Blaine," he asked, sipping his wine, "how have your appointments been going?"

Blaine took a moment to give a well thought-out, calculated answer.

"They're helpful," he finally responded, his finger tracing the condensation on his glass of milk. "I think they're helping me."

"Is that so?" Tom asked softly, and the hair on the back of Blaine's neck prickled uncomfortably. "And Mrs. Sennez's helping you?"

"Yes, sir," Blaine replied, but his answer was less confident. Margaret watched him inscrutably.

"How about I take you to your next appointment?" Tom offered.

Blaine peeked up at his father with a guilty expression.

Tom lowered his fork.

"Blaine."

He knew he was caught, and he bowed his head in shame.

"What's going on?" Tom's wife asked, worried.

"Joy called."

At that, Blaine raised his head in alarm.

"I thought she wasn't allowed to—"

"You're a minor, Blaine," Tom explained. "I don't know anything except the direction your progress is going, and if you aren't going to your appointments."

Blaine looked a bit relieved by that information, but only just. He knew he was still in trouble and would most likely get grounded.

"You haven't been going to your appointments?" Margaret asked, looking disappointed, and Blaine felt a knife twist in his stomach. He hated making his mother sad.

"Blaine, if you were doing better, I'd say it wasn't an issue," Tom spoke to him, rather than at him. Joy said he needed to be supportive, and he'd try his hardest. "But, son, you _aren't _getting better. In fact, I'd say you're getting worse."

"You're putting walls up," Margaret said quietly, and Blaine prayed that the floor would open up and swallow him whole on the spot. "I'm scared for you."

"Okay, I'll go," he immediately spoke, wanting to talk about anything other than his therapy. "I'll go. I promise."

"Thank you," his mother said and reached over to squeeze his hand.

Dinner went by for a while in silence after that, the room only filling with the sound of chewing and clinking of silverware. Tom broke the monotony by clearing his throat, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin, and dropping it to the table.

He eyed his son who pushed his meal around uninterestedly and decided he'd ask.

"Did you guys have a fight?"

Blaine looked up in surprise. As did his mother.

"What? Who?"

"The other night when you came home, he brought you to the front door, and…I don't know, you seemed like you were in a bad mood. Or like something happened."

"Oh…" Blaine looked incredibly scared then. His father never addressed his boyfriend or his sexuality like this, and he was preparing for a lecture or for him to spontaneously start screaming profanities at him. But Tom did neither of those things. "No," he finally responded quietly. "No, we didn't have a fight."

"Huh," Tom grunted, then thought about that night. The boy, Kurt was his name, had brought his son back and, despite Tom's lack of effort, treated him politely, and even wished him a good night. "Kurt seems like a nice kid."

Margaret's eyebrows shot up on her forehead, but it was nothing compared to the look of awe on their son's face. Blaine simply _could not _believe his ears. He'd gone motionless, and he stared at Tom with round eyes.

For some reason, that broke Mr. Anderson's heart. It hurt to know that this look of surprise came from Tom acknowledging Blaine's…_boy_friend. He tried to look past that aspect, that his boy was dating a boy, but it was difficult. It was bizarre and, to be frank, it really creeped Tom out.

However, Blaine was his son, and sometimes he forgot that. He didn't even know who his son was anymore because of this one thing in which he did not understand. One thing. Did that mean he should stop trying to connect with Blaine? He didn't know. Never thought to ask that question.

"Yeah, he is a nice boy," Margaret replied, smiling at her husband fondly. That was another concept that Tom had failed to consider. Was his wife disappointed that Tom refused to familiarize himself with their son's boyfriend? There was another stab of pain. A stab of guilt.

"Thanks," Blaine said, his voice shaking. "He…He makes me a better person," he added quietly.

"That's lovely, honey," Margaret smiled again, as well as reached for his hand again. "We'll have him over for dinner one night."

Tom didn't like the sound of that, since he knew he'd be in charge of keeping the tone of the conversation, and he had _just _opened himself up for _trying _to understand.

"Hm, we'll see," he said instead, and when Blaine looked over in shock again, Tom gave a slight smile.

* * *

Puck tossed his book bag on the kitchen table like always, and then turned to the stack of mail on the counter next to the microwave. There was half of him that wondered if he'd find a letter, but the other half of him was convinced that there was nothing for him in the pile. And after he rilfed through them, he found that second half of him was correct. There was nothing.

He dropped the water and electricity bill back to the counter, and he took a seat at the table for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table.

"Zane?" he called, hearing him typing away from the computer room.

"What?" his stepbrother hollered back.

"Did you get the mail today?"

"Yeah, why?

"Was there anything for me?" Puck wondered, tensing in anticipation for the answer.

"Nope."

"Aw, no love for the Puckasaurus," he complained, but he felt far from laughing. He began tapping his fingers again.

Puck had received a letter everyday for approximately a month and a half, but, for some reason, one day last week, he hadn't received one. That day, he tore the mail apart, and triple checked the mailbox, but it never turned up.

The next day was the same, and so was the next one after that. Now, a week and a half later, there was nothing.

And that relieved and terrified Puck.

* * *

**gleebles A/N; **Once again, thank you all for the continued support for this story! You all are my babies, and I love you each to pieces! :D I'll of course mention my continuous reviewers at the end of this story, just like I did with _Within the Cinderblocks. _You guys are amazing; MWAH!


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